


Gal Pals (Just Some Pals Who Are Gals)

by Margo_Kim



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Best Friends, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Jessica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margo_Kim/pseuds/Margo_Kim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Okay so first off, Jessica and Trish aren’t sisters. It’s important to establish that upfront. </i> </p>
<p>The history of Jessica and Trish is long and weird and involves more making out at the Teen Choice Awards than the average relationship, but it's not complicated. It never has been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gal Pals (Just Some Pals Who Are Gals)

Okay so first off, Jessica and Trish aren’t sisters. It’s important to establish that upfront. There’s “raised in the same house” and there’s “raised as siblings.” Mrs. Walker never went in for the second sibling feel with Jessica–mostly because by the point she realized Jessica was a real person as opposed to some big-eyed orphan she’d seen on late night TV when she mistook a charity infomercial for the Home Shopping Network, she was so terrified of Jessica that she wouldn’t be in the same room for her. Which undercuts the family bonding. And Trish never wanted a sister, who would just be more flesh of her flesh. Trish had enough of that walking around her. What Trish wanted was an outsider, and nothing has ever better described Jessica better.

So anyway, they made out. The way teen girls do when they’re practicing, or “practicing” in that way teen girls do when they’re taught that since teen girls don’t matter, then it doesn’t matter if they kiss teen girls. It’s practice for the people who do matter, namely teen boys and grown men. The first group was boring, the second group was perverted, and neither could hold a decent conversation about anything. So Jessica and Trish made out in Jessica’s bedroom or Trish’s bedroom or sometimes in the dressing room on set or in the bathroom at an awards show. Jessica touched Trish’s boobs for the first time at the People’s Choice Awards, backstage in two of the most horrendously 90s outfits Jessica can remember (pink satin and chokers were involved, formal wear in the 90s being a horrible combination of light BDSM aesthetic meets cheap Renn Faire overlaid with Lisa Frank). Trish gasped into Jessica’s mouth, and then her hands came up to inexpertly squeeze Jessica’s ass. It was the first time they’d touched anything besides lips and arms and occasionally the side of the thigh when they were feeling adventurous. Makeouts were more of a tongue only affair. They were each other’s first kiss–they had enough issues coordinating their mouths to do anything pleasurable without bringing other extremities into it.

Not that their relative chasteness lasted too long. Jessica had grabbed Trish’s boobs, and Trish had grabbed Jessica’s butt, and the funny thing about limits is that people (namely health class teachers and well-intentioned feminists who want you to stand up for yourself) always say that you can go back to an earlier limit, but here’s the thing: you can’t. You cross the line and the line stays crossed. You wade your ass to the other bank of the Rubicon, you don’t get to dogpaddle back saying, “Sorry, sorry, that was a little too much.” You can tell yourself that you’ll pump the breaks whenever you want, that you can turn around whenever it gets to be too much, and that is what Jessica and Trish told each other, that’s what they promised each other now and then whenever they worked up enough courage to actually say anything aloud, but you keep the memories you make, and you don’t get to pretend they aren’t there. And neither Trish nor Jess were then or are now good at backing down. It’s not really their thing.

They’ve never dated, never really considered it. Trish is the person that Jessica fucks when she’s not fucking anyone else. Jessica is the person Trish fucks under similar conditions. It’s easier for Jessica in a lot of ways, her sex life having never been newsworthy. She wants to fuck a woman, she can go out and fuck a woman. Women like Jessica. It’s the lips, Trish informs her almost every time they hook up, which is nearly always at Trish’s instigation because Trish has always loved women more than men, but she doesn’t get to scratch that itch nearly as much as she’d like. For Trish, media-shy after a life lived too much on the public stage, she had to be more careful. Always that risk that anyone who opens her legs for Trish could also open her mouth. Celebrity’s a bitch, especially the celebrity of a child star where everyone’s always a little disappointed in you if you haven’t OD’d by 20. And Trish is private, which is a difficult thing to be when that also has to mean secretive. She keeps telling Jessica it’s not forever, usually after she’s freshly emerged from Jessica’s crotch, wiping her mouth. She’s been planning her coming out for about a decade now, ever since Ellen opened that door for everyone. But it keeps getting pushed to next year, next season, next story where it’s relevant.

“Saving it for the next sweeps week?” Jess joked once, as another planned announcement (“It’s Patsy! A bisexual woman!”) came and went with no announcement.

“Maybe my memoirs,” Trish said with a smile that’s a little too sad for Jessica’s liking. “Anything to boost sales.”

Jessica grimaced and took the wine glass from Trish’s hand. “Jesus, don’t say things like that. It makes me feel like I’m about to go down on your mother.”

Trish laughed and raised one unnervingly perfect eyebrow. “Is Jessica Jones presuming to actually _offer_ oral sex? Is this Christmas?”

“Ha ha,” Jessica said as she pushed Trish back against the couch cushions with just enough strength to keep things exciting. “I’m doing like five minutes tops and then you know we’re switching.”

That was, what, two years ago? Freshly moved into Trish’s new penthouse, the radio show still just a middling success? They’d inaugurated the place by fucking in every room, mostly while they were supposed to be unpacking. Arching your back was never more fun than when you did it on top of bubble wrap. And Trish had just broken up with Melanie as well, a six month affair that ended with more screaming matches and threats to send the story to Us Weekly than Oprah would recommend for a healthy parting. That’s why Trish had been thinking about coming out around then, a plan to yank the rug from under her ex’s feet, to get ahead of the story before the story could get ahead of her. But Melanie found a little decency (or maybe the money the tabloids offered just wasn’t that good) and Trish never had to burst forth from anywhere to win over the public before she could lose them. And Jessica made out with her because that’s what friends are for.

“Do you ever think…” Trish asked that night, her head resting on Jessica’s naked chest, her fingers played with the ends of Jessica’s hair.

“I literally never think,” Jessica replied.

Trish tugged her hair. “I was going to ask if you ever think that we should date. You know. A serious, mature, adult kind of conversation.”

Jessica pinched Trish’s ass and cackled as Trish squealed. “How’s that for an answer?” Jessica said, grinning.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Trish said, trying to look cross and ruining it by laughing. “We’ll remain friends with benefits.”

“I hate that term. It makes me feel like the special fancy version of the car that the dealer tries to sell you. Friends with leather seating and a better radio.”

“You’ve never bought a car from a dealership. Or for more than two thousand dollars in cash,” Trish said. “And you know I hate your preferred terms. With or without fucking, we’re not ‘buddies.’”

“Fuck besties?” Jessica offered. Trish groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling the pillow up to her face. Jessica rolled over on top of her and pressed her mouth to Trish’s ear. “FBFFs?”

“I should have stayed with Melanie.”

“Nah, I’m way more of a bitch than she is.”

“Is that supposed to be an endorsement of your character?”

“Of course it is,” Jessica said. “You love bitches.” And then, “Look at me, I’m smiling charmingly.”

Trish raised her head from the pillow and squinted. “Not that charming,” she said and dropped her head again.

“Whatever,” Jessica said. “I’ve got charm coming out of my ass you know.” Jessica fell back onto the pillow behind Trish, cozying up until Jessica was the big spoon that God intended her to be. “Dating,” she scoffed into Trish’s hair. “You think dating would be better than this? You think anything would?”

After a long moment, Trish rolled over and wrapped her arms so tightly around Jessica that she had to make some hilarious choking noises to get across the point, but that was how they fell asleep that night, and it wasn’t that different, now that Jess thinks about it, from how they’d fallen asleep that first night together, back when they’d been teen girls who still got sweaty palms at the thought of holding each other’s hands, back when they’d been not sisters and not roommates but just friends, new friends, true friends, the kind of friends where you start to see that the sky’s held up not by some old giant or whatever but by a single column, and when you walk up to it, you see that it reads Trish and Jessica, Jessica and Trish.  

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted over on [my tumblr.](http://margotkim.tumblr.com/post/133779423231/fic-gal-pals-just-some-pals-who-are-gals)


End file.
